Oh man... i was reading the one about the father who played goldeneye with his kids and my PHONE STARTED TO RING AS LOUD AS IT POSSIBLY COULD!, i think my phone was trolling me, who calls at 2:00 in the morning.

The journal is badly worn; the red cloth exterior has bad sun and wind damage. Sand particles have been extracted from the pages.

The journal entries have been copied here for official recording purposes.

Thursday, July 8th, 1999

Brad just bought me a new journal! Oh God, I love him.

Ummm…Let's see, what should I write here? My name is Jane Trite, I am 23 years old, and I have been dating Brad Robertson for two years, this Saturday. He said he's got something big planned! I can't wait!

Friday, July 9th, 1999

I went shopping for our anniversary. I swear that shopping for Brad is so difficult. Most guys are easy, and enjoy things like football, beer, or the like. But not Brad. He's a bit more…effeminate.

Not gay, don't get me wrong, but he's a fellow who's very open about his feelings. That's why I love him!

OMG! He just told me that he's taking me to the Opera tomorrow! He won't tell me which musical piece we're seeing, but that doesn't matter. The fucking Opera!

I swear to god he's not gay.

Saturday, July 10th, 1999

Well we're in a lovely bunch.

We got lost coming home from the Opera, and accidentally drove into a really foggy wooded area. Luckily we had a full tank of gas, right?

Wrong. Our car stalled, and eventually stopped. Brad tried everything he could, but to be honest, he doesn't know much about vehicles.

Thankfully I charged my cell phone earlier that night, right?

Wrong again. No signal.

It's okay. It won't be the first time I've had to spend the night in a vehicle. We're both feeling pretty tired, so I think I'm going to go to bed.

By the way, The Lion King was totally awesome!

Sunday, July 11th, 1999

I woke up this morning, and was shocked to see nothing but desert surrounding the vehicle. No forest, no road signs, no nothing. Christ, even the road has disappeared. There's nothing but sand, sand, sand. The sand has already piled halfway up the tires, and obscures everything more than about 100 yards away. Brad got out and tried to dig the car out, but with no luck. There's nothing he can do. The sand was pelting him too violently, so he quickly came back inside. He said even the road we drove in on is gone. I started to get very worried, but Brad told me everything would be okay. I suppose I believe him.

Monday, July 12th, 1999

I'm starting to get very thirsty. Luckily Brad had some emergency bottled water and beef jerky in his back seat. We nibbled on that and discussed what we should do. I wanted to look for somebody, but Brad said that we were already being missed, and that when they sent out a search party they'd be looking for his car. I guess he's right, so we're staying here another night.

The wind has died down, but the sand has piled up six inches past the bottom of the door. I swear I see something off in the distance, but Brad just dismisses it as a trick of the light, a mirage, etc. He tells me that if we leave the vehicle, even in these more docile conditions, we might never find it again. He tells me that getting lost in the desert is extremely easy, and that rescue is coming. He doesn't seem so sure.

Tuesday, July 13th, 1999

After discussing it, we decided to leave our car. Because the sand piled so high around the car, we had to break a window out to leave. We have no more food, and very little water, so we braved the desert. It's a weird desert.

First of all, it's cold. Not unbearably cold, but it carries just enough chill to penetrate the skin, and lodge itself deep within my body. Even with the Sun dominating the sky with its harsh glare, there is very little warmth to be found.

There's also a very weird smell in the air. It's not strong, but like the cold, it starts eating away at you. It smells a little like 4th of July fireworks, but could also be rotting meat. I'm not sure. I've never been to a desert before, so maybe all deserts smell like this.

We walked all day toward the thing I saw in the distance. I took my high heeled shoes off somewhere after the second hour, which was a bad idea. The sand is cold like metal, and my toes started to go numb. Brad gave me his shoes, since I told him I was getting so cold. Anyway I deserve his shoes, since he was the one who got us lost.

After countless hours of walking, we still seemed no closer to the structure than when we first started.

I feel tired, and hungry, and am starting to fear that we might die in this hellhole.

Wednesday, July 16th, 1999

There's something in the desert with us. I see it moving in the corner of my eye, hidden in the sand blowing about through that air; a dark form that has no real shape. I think it's following us. I told Brad, but he just blamed it on hunger hallucinations. Still, he seemed very worried, and kept looking over his shoulder.

The smell and cold and worry have pierced every part of my body, and I feel sick. Brad tried to comfort me, but after a particularly bad gust of wind blew sand into my mouth, I lost it, and threw up. I now feel much hungrier, and have an insatiable thirst. My throat burns, my eyes burn, my nostrils burn, yet I'm shivering, and numb.

We found the ruins of a building today. Oh, but before you think we finally found a shelter from this god awful cold and sandy wind, allow me to explain this building. It's made of old, very weathered cement, has no roof, and looks to have been lopped off 4 feet up from the base. We tried to rest on the side opposite the wind, but the swirling currents rebounded over the wall, creating violent eddies of sand that found their way up to our faces.

We've decided to take refuge a few feet outside this building. It's comfortable to see something other than sand, even if it grants us no hospility.

Thursday, July 17th, 1999

It's still dark, but the Sun's rising. I feel tired, and scared, and above all, cold. I have developed a bad cough, and even with Brad keeping me warm, I still feel like my bones have turned to ice, and my skin has become brittle and weak.

I really am frightened. When we woke up, the building was gone, only to be replaced by more goddamned sand.

But what scares me most of all is Brad has developed a temper. He's always been such a docile guy, but now he's…Different. When I told him about seeing the thing behind us, he snapped, and began to shout at me. He told me to shut up, and that he hated me, and that it was my fault for telling him to leave the vehicle. And then he struck me! It still makes me cry.

About an hour before twilight set in, we stumbled upon a large stretch of similar buildings like we found yesterday, only these were of varying heights, and widths. Despite this, none provided us any shelter.

We drank the last of our water today. We somehow managed to stretch 3 bottles of water over several days, but now it has run out.

I don't care anymore. I hope I don't wake up tomorrow. I hope whatever I hear rustling around in the sand out there amongst the infinite number of dunes takes me. I hope the cold takes me. I just don't want to have to do this anymore.

[Traces of blood were found on this page. It has been assumed that this bled through from the next day's journal entry]

Friday, July 18th, 1999

My cough is getting worse. I look to Brad for comfort, but receive none. The city was gone when we woke. We continued our walk, but it's becoming hard. I'm hungry, and cold, and sick. I'm shaking almost uncontrollably, but Brad continues to be stonehearted.

We decided to rest early today. We're not getting anywhere anyway, and every time we wake the next day everything has been moved around. We've decided to save what little strength we have left for the mere act of survival.

Saturday, July 19th, 1999

[Traces of blood were found on this page]

I'm coughing up blood. The sand sediments and cold have pierced the inside of my lungs, and now I'm coughing up blood. I taste iron, and that smell is causing me to gag constantly. I don't have anything left to vomit, but the dry heaves cause me to convulse almost uncontrollably.

[Smaller spatters of blood were found here. The handwriting has grown noticeably messier from this point onward]

Sunday, July 20th, 1999

I hear them, out there. Whispering. I can even see them sometimes moving around, studying us, asking each other how much longer we'll stay alive. We see a few collapsing buildings in the distance. There's no point in exploring them.

The feelings of cold and hunger have blended together. I can barely write this through my shaking hand. My feet have gone from a ghostly white to a pale green. I know they're dead, and I hope I'm next.

Monday, July 21st, 1999

Brad has no more body heat, and won't wake up. If I had the strength, I might be able to do something. But what's the point? If he did die, he's much luckier than me.

Tuesday, July 22nd, 1999

They're out there. I see them. They're whispering to me.

Wednesday, July 23rd, 1999

The buildings are rising and falling beneath the sand now. No more shadows, but they still whisper. Whisper, whisper, whisper…

Brad is no longer here.

Thursday, July 24th, 1999

I see it! Lights! There's a brightly lit, modern looking facility not 100 feet away from me. Brad's Spirit sent it to save me. I know he did. I love you Brad.

A man went to a hotel and walked up to the front desk to check in. The woman at the desk gave him his key and told him that on the way to his room, there was a door with no number that was locked and no one was allowed in there. She explained that it was a storeroom, and that it was out of bounds. She reminded him of this several times before allowing him upstairs. So he followed the instructions of the woman at the front desk, going straight to his room, and going to bed. However the insistence of the woman had piqued his curiosity, so the next night he walked down the hall to the door and tried the handle. Sure enough it was locked. He bent down and looked through the wide keyhole. Cold air passed through it, chilling his eye.

What he saw was a hotel bedroom, like his, and in the corner was a woman whose skin was incredibly pale. She was leaning her head against the wall, facing away from the door. He stared in confusion for a while, was this a celebrity? The owners daughter? He almost knocked on the door, out of curiosity, but decided not to. As he was still looking, the woman turned sharply and he jumped back from the door, hoping she would not suspect he had been spying on her. He crept away from the door and walked back to his room. The next day, he returned to the door and looked through the wide keyhole. This time, all he saw was redness. He couldn’t make anything out besides a distinct red color, unmoving. Perhaps the inhabitants of the room knew he was spying the night before, and had blocked the keyhole with something red. He felt embarrassed that he had made the woman so uncomfortable, and hoped she had not made a complaint with the woman on the front desk.

At this point he decided to consult her for more information. After some gentle quizzing and the promise that the explanation would go no further than him she finally said "Well, I might as well tell you the story of what happened in that room. A long time ago, a man murdered his wife in there, we find that even now, people get uncomfortable staying there. But these people were not ordinary. They were white all over, except for their eyes, which were red."

A man went to a hotel and walked up to the front desk to check in. The woman at the desk gave him his key and told him that on the way to his room, there was a door with no number that was locked and no one was allowed in there. She explained that it was a storeroom, and that it was out of bounds. She reminded him of this several times before allowing him upstairs. So he followed the instructions of the woman at the front desk, going straight to his room, and going to bed. However the insistence of the woman had piqued his curiosity, so the next night he walked down the hall to the door and tried the handle. Sure enough it was locked. He bent down and looked through the wide keyhole. Cold air passed through it, chilling his eye.

What he saw was a hotel bedroom, like his, and in the corner was a woman whose skin was incredibly pale. She was leaning her head against the wall, facing away from the door. He stared in confusion for a while, was this a celebrity? The owners daughter? He almost knocked on the door, out of curiosity, but decided not to. As he was still looking, the woman turned sharply and he jumped back from the door, hoping she would not suspect he had been spying on her. He crept away from the door and walked back to his room. The next day, he returned to the door and looked through the wide keyhole. This time, all he saw was redness. He couldn’t make anything out besides a distinct red color, unmoving. Perhaps the inhabitants of the room knew he was spying the night before, and had blocked the keyhole with something red. He felt embarrassed that he had made the woman so uncomfortable, and hoped she had not made a complaint with the woman on the front desk.

At this point he decided to consult her for more information. After some gentle quizzing and the promise that the explanation would go no further than him she finally said "Well, I might as well tell you the story of what happened in that room. A long time ago, a man murdered his wife in there, we find that even now, people get uncomfortable staying there. But these people were not ordinary. They were white all over, except for their eyes, which were red."

About the third paragraph in, I remembered I have head about 'Number Radio Stations' before. About a year ago, I was in a mall and my friend's dad was telling me about Russia having these 'Number Radio Stations'. He said they were for military communication and they were used for missile launches. I can't remember much from it, but I did a quick wiki-search of it.

About the third paragraph in, I remembered I have head about 'Number Radio Stations' before. About a year ago, I was in a mall and my friend's dad was telling me about Russia having these 'Number Radio Stations'. He said they were for military communication and they were used for missile launches. I can't remember much from it, but I did a quick wiki-search of it.

Fuck man I highly suggest not reading the thing in op. After reading it I decided to go to bed, but before doing so play some fallout. I quickly realized I was getting no where in the game and needed a quest, "I'll see if GNR gives me any leads" I thought. I turned it on and the second I heard three-dogs voice a cold chill ran down my spine. From that point on I was constantly waiting so it wouldn't be dark in the game and acting like a fat pussy in rooms (ie spamming vats). Then they played "i don't want to set the world on fire" and I was out. Fuck man I used to enjoy that song wtf

Once, there was a boy who loved to read. He read everything he could get his hands on, and loved going to his favorite book store. One day, the boy realized he had read everything the store had to offer. He confronted the owner, and asked him if he had anything the boy had never checked out. The owner said why, yes, I do, and pulled out a book called “Death”. He gladly sold it to the boy at a discounted price of 50$.

However, he warned the boy, never to read the front page. Well, the boy returned to his house and read the book, and he was content. However, he always wondered, what could be on that front page, it was always in the back of his mind. One day, the temptation was too much for the boy, and he flipped to the very front of the book, and dropped the book in HORROR.